The older I get, the closer I feel to my grandmother, Rosie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She has always been my favorite person. My second mother. My anchor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I was little, I didn\u2019t fully understand the quiet strength she carried. I just knew I felt safe with her. I loved our time together\u2014simple, steady, sacred. But now, with time and perspective, I see her with new eyes. I see the storms she weathered that I was too young to name or understand back then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She lost her mother, her husband, and her son\u2014my father<\/em>\u2014all within three years. These three blows would bring most people to their knees, but not Grandma Rosie. She kept going. She did life her way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I remember overhearing her sister and others say, \u201cWe invite her\u2026 but she never comes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And yet, when she did show up, she was radiant. Hair done, lipstick on, warm and chatty as ever\u2014until, just as quickly, she\u2019d slip away. When she\u2019d had enough, she left. No apologies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a child, I thought she was just private. But now I realize\u2014she was free<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Living alone wasn\u2019t lonely for her. It was a sanctuary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And I get it now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As I grow older, I see myself in her. Or maybe I see her in my children and in me when we visit. The way she smiles makes them feel like the most important people in the room. I miss her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yet, the peace in solitude, the quiet joys of puttering, reading, and writing, and the beauty in being still bring me back to Grandma Rosie and the way she still whispers into my soul.<\/p>\n\n\n\n People assume I\u2019m an extrovert\u2014and maybe I am in specific spaces\u2014but a part of me longs for silence. That treasures the slow moments, the unscheduled hours – the small rituals that center and fill me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Grandma Rosie used to check out stacks of books from the library. She would mow the lawn with her rusty push mover, tend her garden or sometimes buy the vegetables and fruits she would later can. She would keep an ear on the Detroit Tigers game, and sneak an inner check on her perfectly cooked New York strip sizzling over a tiny Weber grill propped on the hood of her white Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Then Grandma Rosie would settle into that teal-colored plastic-webbed porch chair which left crisscross marks or made me slip through as a child. She didn\u2019t need company to enjoy her evening. She had herself. She had her rhythm. And she didn\u2019t care what anyone thought about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s such dignity in that, a power in knowing who you are and living like you mean it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Years ago, I named my inner compass after her….Rosie\u2014my north star.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The part of me that always knows what matters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The part that says, \u201cIt\u2019s okay to do it your way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The part that reminds me… I come from resilience – from grace – from a woman (my grandmother) who knew how to stay true to herself, even when the world didn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And sometimes, when the house is quiet and the light is soft, I feel her with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not in a loud or dramatic way\u2014just a whisper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A gentle nudge that says:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Keep going, sweetheart. You\u2019re doing just fine.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Do it your way.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Live the life that fits you.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I did\u2026 and so can you.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The older I get, the closer I feel to my grandmother, Rosie. She has always been my favorite person. My second mother. My anchor. When I was little, I didn\u2019t fully understand the quiet strength she carried. I just knew I felt safe with her. I loved our time together\u2014simple, steady, sacred. But now, with […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1398,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,39,27,14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-967","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-empowerment","category-inspiration","category-reflection","category-women-of-strength"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/967","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=967"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/967\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1401,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/967\/revisions\/1401"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1398"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=967"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=967"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=967"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}